Of what, you may ask—love affair, divorce, death, storm
illness, joy, betrayal, revelation, blessing?

In my courtyard, a heap of stuff blown from many directions—
wet socks, branch about to bloom, TV antenna
bent-over window screen, a sandbag without sand.

I could set up shop, sell broken merchandise
to the broken, sell wails and sobs to the grieving.

Come by and buy this day with trees
uprooted and boughs
fallen, with flooded kitchens honking geese and two
ravens solemn as undertakers in black suits
strutting what might be a roof.

In one corner, a heap of leaves—green, brown, red, and gold.
My broom at the ready, I begin to sweep
when the leaves let out a cry, and I leap

back in terror at the voice of the inanimate, the blown
to bits, the remnants of what was
on my knees I lean in close, nudge away gently,
gently lift leaf from leaf—

three birds, each no bigger than my thumb,
like me in shock or not yet fully awake,
hold mum-still
whirl up a sudden, wings brushing my face.